Memory
by Reyka Sivao
Summary: Request. Bellatrix Lestrange/Antonin Dolohov. The man she married was never the man she loved.


Author's Notes: To my recipient: I hope this is to your liking!

For Alley_Skywalker (Pinch hit for the Rare Pair Fest. )

* * *

The Dementors sucked every last happy thought from the prisoners of Azkaban, feeding on whatever joy or satisfaction they'd managed to find in their lives. Those happy memories faded into mist while the Dementors were there, leaving only those that left the prisoners empty and despairing.

Bellatrix never forgot her husband.

Every time when they left her, little more than a shuddering heap of rags on the floor, the memory of her marriage to Rudolphus was one of the few clear thoughts in her head.

That's wasn't right. Her marriage had been chosen for her by the Dark Lord himself, so the fact that the Dementors couldn't steal it from her was a form of disloyalty so deep that she could never forgive herself.

But no matter how hard she tried, it was another's face that slipped away when the horrible hooded creatures came for her.

* * *

She'd first really met him in school, at one of the meetings of the group that couldn't yet call themselves Death Eaters.

He was tall and handsome, but his defining feature was his sharpness. Sharp features, a sharp mind, sharp wit. He was uncompromising when he faced the truth, however that truth might affect him.

Antonin Dolohov was a half-blood.

* * *

They spent a great deal of time together, then. They could spend hours discussing wizarding theory, whether the topic was practical magic or the finer points of blood hierarchy.

They shared a passion for the truth the rest of the world was too ignorant to believe, delving deep into the details that made it so convincing. And, of course, they shared the same adoration for the man who made it all clear, who had showed them the light that came from darkness.

The Dark Lord was the force that brought them—all of them—together, binding their lives willingly to his cause. He was unquestionably right, and they all owed him everything for allowing them to be on the right side of the coming battle.

Having someone to share this _rightness_ with made her life complete.

So Bellatrix found it all too easy to forget, in those days, about his half-blood mother and his muggle grandfather.

It didn't seem to matter much, when he clearly shared her passion for the truth.

* * *

It mattered later.

Her time in school was always one of the first victims of the Dementors' ravenous appetite.

After that…

Well, her final, glorious entry into the ranks of the Dark Lord's faithful, was, perhaps—no, certainly!—even better. But once she was settled in, she started thinking about marriage, an unbreaking partnership for nothing more than the Dark Lord's benefit.

The choice was obvious, and Bellatrix and Antonin began talking seriously about getting married.

At least, until the Dark Lord heard about it.

* * *

"Unacceptable."

"But, my lord—!"

"Do you dare question _me?_" His voice had a hissing quality when he was angry, even then.

"My Lord," she said, bowing, "I only wish to know _why_."

"Is it not obvious?"

When Bellatrix didn't answer, he deigned to explain for her benefit.

"There are so few purebloods. It would simply not do to have one of the few marry a half-blood."

"My Lord, if we had no children, would it truly matter?"

The Dark Lord's anger was a palpable thing, filling the air with the kind of sharpness that comes right before a lightning storm.

Never before had it been directed at _her_, and Bellatrix gazed up at him with something between awe and terror.

But before he could voice his disgust at her daring, Antonin touched her arm and bowed down beside her.

"We live only to serve you, Master. Our lives are yours to shape how you will. If our marriage does not please you, then we will marry anyone, or no one, as you please."

For a single, traitorous instant, Bellatrix almost spoke.

She almost defied the Dark Lord, almost contradicted his assertion that half-bloods weren't good enough, almost betrayed a thousand years of wizarding truth for a chance at a life with the man beside her.

Almost.

For just a moment, she stood on the edge of a knife, and then slipped quietly back into the self she'd always known.

She bowed her head lower. "As my Lord pleases."

The storm of anger wavered, fading into a dead calm as he accepted their compliance.

"Yes, as I please. Be assured that I will let you know what I please."

* * *

They stopped talking about it after that, but it wasn't real yet.

Not really.

It wasn't real until the Dark Lord chose a husband for her from the few eligible purebloods.

When she found out, her future slipped quietly out of her grasp…and she did nothing to reach for it.

* * *

"Bella?"

She said nothing, merely pausing to close the door behind her before stepping further into the room.

"Bella, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

It wasn't a lie. It couldn't be lie. Nothing surrounded her, filled her with its emptiness.

"I'm getting married. I just thought you should know."

When Antonin spoke, it was with less than his usual sharpness.

"This is indeed excellent news." His face was polite, but blank. "Who has the Dark Lord chosen for you?"

Bellatrix turned toward the bookshelf, picking up the nearest book just to avoid his gaze. _Slytherin's Theories of Blood Hierarchy._ Of course.

"Rudolphus Lestrange."

Antonin was silent for a moment.

"The Lestrange family will be proud to add you to their ranks."

"As I am honored to join them."

Bellatrix put down the book, which hit the shelf with more force than she thought she'd used.

"We won't see much of each other."

Antonin looked down. "It's not goodbye. We shall have to keep in touch."

"Indeed."

Bellatrix finally lifted her gaze and met his eyes.

"Anton…"

Her voice trailed off as she looked at him.

A thousand possibilities rose and faded between them, each less probable than the last.

They both knew the truth, just as they both knew they would accept it, in the end.

Antonin finally broke their gaze.

"We both knew from the start that the Dark Lord's ways were for the best, whether we understood them or—"

The strange weightiness that had overcome her broke for an instant, and without conscious thought, Bellatrix gathered him into a kiss.

His arms were around her and their lips were pressed together and nothing mattered but the heat of his body and the pressure of his arms and the taste of his lips.

When they pulled apart, Bellatrix had the distinct impression of having lost something that had always been with her.

"I think," she whispered, "that this _is_ goodbye."

* * *

That memory had a strange place in Azkaban.

Even when she couldn't see his face, she could still his embrace in that moment, and she held to that memory like a lifeline.

A wretched, traitorous lifeline.

But still, she comforted herself with the knowledge that anything that got her through this living hell alive and able to serve her Master was a good thing.

Even if it was the kiss of the man the Dark Lord had denied her.


End file.
